


Praised Be

by taylocrow



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Drama, F/M, Handmaids Tale AU, Hurt, non consensual sex, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylocrow/pseuds/taylocrow
Summary: Sansa Stark was a ballerina before. Before the pollution, the sterilization of humans, and civil war broke out. The Pointed Star has taken over what was left of Westeros and being fertile, she is now trained as a Handmaid to provide faithful families children they couldn’t otherwise have.Jon Snow is a driver for the family Sansa is currently enslaved to and keeps a watchful eye on her.





	1. Under His Eye

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a request on my tumblr by an anon and I couldn’t get it out of my head. This story will be similar to Handmaids Tale but will also differ from the book/show. 
> 
> Thanks to myladyely for all your help!!
> 
> Also I just kinda meshed together different religious elements from ASOIAF universe to make it work. Just.....roll with it.

Every room in Commander Baratheon’s sprawling mansion is plastered in floral wallpaper, and still somehow manages to be dismal and dark. Sansa has been assigned to the Baratheon family to give them thegift of a baby. Something that she, as a sinner, doesn’t deserve from their gracious God.

 

When fertility plummeted, pollution rotted the crops, and the government aided no one, it made way for the Pointed Star to take over. Everything was overthrown. You were a scientist, a non-believer, a reporter, gay? You’re dead.

 

Nothing lives in this place unless you play your part.

 

Before Sansa was caught running to Essos to escape, she was a mother and wife. She was a ballet dancer who performed in front of thousands and came home to a beautiful little girl, Mina, every night. Her husband, Harry, was married when she met him. He was married when she slept with him. And being a home wrecker and runaway would’ve been a death sentence when she was caught, but alas, she has a working uterus.

 

So now she’s been branded and tortured and forced into this new role. This place where she is nothing but a hole for another woman’s husband to fill with babies. She is to deliver these well off, brown-nosing families healthy babies and then part ways to be passed on to the next bed. A Handmaid is what she’s called, some scripture mumbo jumbo about female servants.

 

Sansa’s life is now staring at ceilings and biting her cheeks and trying her best to keep herself alive. Mina was torn from her arms, and she has no clue what they’ve done to her. When she was first taken to the Red Center to be taught her new duties, Aunt Lysa alluded to the idea that as long as she behaves, her daughter will be safe.

 

Which means she’s alive, and that means Sansa has to stay alive.

 

“Ofrobert!” Martha shouts from the kitchen. Sansa can hear her from the reading room where she’s currently sitting and staring off in space. Cersei, the Commander’s wife, looks away from knitting her scarf to shoot her a sour look.

 

“We’ll continue this conversation.”

 

Sansa nods meekly and allows Cersei’s words to roll around in her skull. “ _Maybe Robert can’t do this, but you can, and by God I deserve a baby. So we’re going to get you pregnant one way or the other and he’ll be none the wiser._ ”

 

What Cersei suggests can get herself, Sansa, and her husband’s driver killed. But the desperation is so deeply rooted that Sansa can’t find it in herself to be at all surprised.

 

When Sansa rounds the corner to the kitchen, she sees the Commander’s driver standing right beside the back door. Sansa feels a tightness in her chest as she looks at his wild curls and sullen eyes. He has no idea what Cersei has planned for him.

 

“Ofrobert!” Shae hisses from the other side of the room.

 

Sansa’s eyes make their way over to the slender woman holding out her paper rations. “Take these with you to market today. Commander Baratheon wants a big supper tonight before the ceremony.”

 

Sansa blinks and takes the bits of paper delicately from Shae’s bony fingers. Shae rattles off what she needs to get specifically from the market and what she needs to do to get some fresh garlic for the chicken.

 

“Hello ladies,” Commander Baratheon booms from the open back door. Jon, the driver, holds it open wide for the fat bastard to comfortably navigate into his home. “Martha, you gave Ofrobert the tea?”

 

“Brewing it now, sir.” Shae nods at the kettle on the stove and Sansa forces a tight smile at the Commander.

 

Robert tosses his jacket onto the coat hanger and grins bright and greedy. “The tea is supposed to help with fertility, Ofrobert. My wife’s brother was kind enough to give us some when Cersei made him aware of our difficulties.”

 

That explains Cersei’s limp today. Robert must’ve been furious when he found that his loyal and loving wife went and shared that Sansa wasn’t pregnant after 16 weeks.

 

“Praised be.” Sansa’s eyelids flutter to conceal her desire to roll her eyes. Tea isn’t going to do shit and everyone in the room knows it.

 

Robert’s heavy steps echo ominously in the kitchen, and just as he stands before Sansa, the kettle’s whistle pierces the air. Shae jumps and immediately takes it from the stove to obediently pour a cup for Sansa.

 

Robert’s stout hand lays on Sansa’s flat stomach and when their eyes meet, a flash of something crosses Robert’s eye. “Blessed be the fruit.”

 

Sansa fights to swallow, “May the Lord open.”

 

Shae maneuvers around their tense encounter to place the cup of tea on the kitchen island. The moment quickly deteriorates, and Robert drops his hand and looks at the cup. “Go on.”

 

Hopefully it’s poisoned.

 

Sansa picks up the cup and takes a generous sip for how hot the steaming beverage is.

 

“To the market after that, Ofrobert. I’m sure Martha gave you the rations?” Robert gives her shoulder a tentative squeeze and Jon crosses from the mud room and into the kitchen area. “Sir, we have a situation.”

 

They all jerk their heads in his direction and hold their breaths for his reaction. Robert drops his hand from Sansa’s shoulder to clap Jon on the back. “Let’s get on with it. No need to have tea time with the ladies. Let them have their girl time.”

 

Jon looks at Sansa as she chokes down another sip of the bitter brew. The two men spin on their heels and quickly exit the room and back out the door from which they had just come.

 

Sansa glances around the kitchen and sees Shae busying herself with cleaning the already spotless counters. She knows she can’t completely trust Shae not to tell if she dumps this disgusting tea down the drain.

 

That’s part of The Star’s game, fear. Everyone is pitted against one another in the fight for power and survival. If the Marthas and Handmaids were to team up, this dynamic wouldn’t work. Robert has made Shae believe Sansa told on her for not washing dishes and for the time she spit in the pot roast. Shae lost a finger for it.

 

Shae wipes with her four fingers and motions down to the bits of paper Sansa has beside her cup of tea. “Again, don’t forget the garlic.” She’s bitter and harsh with her tone.

 

Women aren’t allowed to read anymore. Sansa glances down at the rations decorated with pictures of lettuce, onion, and a chicken and longs for the weight of any kind of book in her hands.

 

Shae is a Martha, a house maid and cook, because she was a sinner but proved herself worthy of God’s forgiveness.

 

Sansa’s name will change for each man she is passed along to. Today she is Ofrobert, and tonight she will be Ofjon.

 

-

  
The prayers have been said, the candles have been lit, and the bullshit begins. Cersei’s sitting cross legged on her master king bed, the emerald comforter is neatly made. Sansa makes no eye contact with her as she lies down on her back and rests her head in Cersei’s lap. Robert steps in between her parted legs while Cersei grabs onto her hands much too tight.

 

Sansa’s eyes bore into the ceiling, the fire crackles, and Robert’s pants hit the floor.

 

“Blessed be the fruit.” Robert grunts.

 

“May the Lord open.” Cersei and Sansa sigh in the same breath.

 

This time, Sansa tries to remember her fourth grade teacher’s name as Robert pumps himself inside of her.

 

It never takes long for him to tire and finish, the disgusting idiot. It could be worse. Once at the market she heard Ofrkickard say Commander Karstark takes thirty minutes. Sansa’s stomach tightens at the thought, but she keeps her eyes trained to the ceiling.

 

Would having a baby bring her even a bit of happiness?

 

Cersei’s face now hovers above her own, “Lay still for ten minutes and go wash up.”

 

Robert has already left the room by the time Sansa lets her mind float back to her body. As soon as Cersei follows him, she stands straight up and let’s Robert’s worthless cum leak slowly down her leg.

 

-

 

“I’m sure you know one another.” Cersei looks between Jon and Sansa as they avoid each others eyes. They’re in his garden shed of a home, something exactly like HGTV would do a special about on their tiny homes show. Both Shae and Jon were here when Sansa arrived, and she can’t be sure for how long or why, so she lets her mind wander into believing that he converted the shed into a home himself.

 

Sansa lets out a shaky breath and removes her uniform bonnet and places it on Jon’s chipped kitchen table. Cersei settles herself into Jon’s lone chair and grabs her knitting needles and scarf from her bag.

 

Jon has driven Sansa to doctor’s appointments on a few occasions, they’ve exchanged pleasantries, but there’s no real personal relationship between the two of them. She once saw Jon rescue a chipmunk from going into the air conditioner. The only thing she knows for sure is that he’s part of the Little Birds.

 

The Little Birds spread gossip and check the Pointed Star’s citizens for any wrong doing. It’s basically a network of little snitches who kiss ass and spy in order to move up and gain power. Sansa once saw the head of the Little Birds walking outside of Jon’s home.

 

Would he turn them all in?

 

“Well, get on with it.” Cersei slides on her glasses and motions towards the bed directly behind Jon.

 

This has to be a trick.

 

Sansa glances at Jon and then spins to look at Cersei, “I won’t do this to the Commander.”

 

Cersei plucks her tongue and tilts her head, “You’re doing this for the Commander, silly girl. He wants a son.”

 

“We just had the ceremony. It’s possible—“

 

“We don’t have to do this.” Jon’s quiet voice is stern as he cuts her off.

 

Cersei slams her knitting project on the table, “You two are going to fuck and you two are going to give me a baby. Unless you want the Sparrow hearing about your little contraband guitar Jon.”

 

This isn’t a trick, this is blackmail.

 

Sansa looks back at Jon and swallows. They share a look of disdain and regret as they make their way towards his neatly made bed.

 

“Keep your dress on, Ofrobert. We all know you’re a little home wrecking slut, but no need to create an innocent child out of such sin.” Cersei’s knitting needles begin to clack together as Sansa lies down on her back.

 

Jon let’s out a huff of annoyance and chews on his lip. “I’m sorry.” He mouths to her when she begins to tug her underwear to the floor.

 

She makes no response and waits patiently for this to just be over. Jon unzips his pants and he pretends to take his dick out from his underwear. He lowers himself onto her and begins to to rub his covered self against her.

 

Sansa releases her breath and tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

 

It’s the nicest thing someone has ever done for her.

 

-

 

Every three days Jon pretends to fuck Sansa and so far Cersei has finished knitting a scarf and a pair of mittens. She is halfway through a matching hat and Sansa is well aware that she’s losing her patience.

 

Jon holds doors open for Sansa. She snuck a strawberry at the market for him. They occasionally lock eyes while he grinds against her. Lately his cock gets hard against her and at first he’d blush and look away, but now they continue staring.

 

The Commander burst into Sansa’s room last night and said Shae let him know she had taken a fork from the kitchen. Sansa knows he knows she didn’t do it, and she’s unsure whether or not Shae framed her or even said something at all. Either way, The Commander gives her a black eye and forces himself on her while she whimpers in pain.

 

It’s unclear to Sansa how long she stays on the wooden floorboards of her pitiful bedroom. The air is thick when Jon nudges her door open, and the dim lights from the hallway light up her darkness. “I brought you some tea. Real tea, not the…you know. Um, I only put sugar in it.”

 

Sansa rolls from her side over to back and looks up at him with glassy eyes. She gives him a tentative, closed mouth smile in thanks. It’s still hard to completely trust him. Especially after what Robert had just done.

 

Jon slowly lowers himself onto the ground and sets the tea cup between them. He keeps a respectful distance, and scoots back even more to rest his back against the wall.

 

Sansa takes a deep, sterling breath and pulls herself up into a sitting position. Jon watches on stoically as she reaches for the tea with shaky hands and takes a delicate sip. It’s the perfect temperature and she can tell he added cinnamon to it. He must’ve found Shae’s hidden stash.

 

“What’s your name?” Jon asks while he looks at his hands. “Shae knows but she won’t tell me.”

 

“You’re not supposed to call her that, you’ll get her killed.” Sansa takes another sip and looks him dead in the eye.

 

“I’m not getting anyone killed.” Jon rests his head against the yellowing wall and looks almost childlike with his limbs strewn about so carelessly.

 

Sansa puts the tea down. What more is there to lose? Other than an eye or a finger.

 

“Sansa.” She can’t quite bring herself to look at him. “My name is Sansa.”

 

“Sansa.”

 

“Ofrobert!” Cersei seethes from down the hallway just as her name is whispered form Jon’s lips. They meet each other’s eyes and Sansa hops up much faster than her body was ready for. She aches between her legs and it makes her wobble as she teeters to open her bedroom door.

 

Cersei’s nose is poking through it as soon as she cracks it open. “Mrs. Baratheon.”

 

“Save it.” Cersei shoves the door open a little more and the blood rushes through Sansa’s ears like a wild river. “Have you gotten your monthly visit?”

 

“Due next week.” Sansa prepares herself for a slap or a push, there’s something raw and animalistic in Mrs. Baratheon’s demeanor that puts her off. But no slap or any means of violence is brought against her.

 

It doesn’t take long for Sansa to catch on to where the Commander’s wife is looking. Cersei flares at the tea cup in the center of the floor before letting out an amused huff and turning on her heel.

 

It takes all of Sansa’s will not to blow out a sigh of relief and slam the door. But rather, Jon comes up quietly from behind her and nudges it further open. He has the tea cup in hand and a worried look on his face. “What happens if you don’t conceive?”

 

“I go to to colonies.” Sansa feels his body warmth radiating and closes her eyes at the small comfort it brings her. He moves just a fraction of an inch closer, not enough to be entirely noticeable, but enough that Sansa can feel his breath against her neck.

 

Jon maneuvers around her with ease to walk outside of her room, “No one is going to the colonies.”

 

“Under His eye.” Sansa replies.

 

Only then does Jon stop walking and turn around to look her dead in the eye, “Praised be, _Sansa_.”

 


	2. We All Want The Same Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks a heap to myladyely!

Sansa sits wordlessly at the lonesome kitchen table and shoves her half-cooked asparagus around her plate. Cersei forced her onto a vegetarian diet two weeks ago because apparently it’s what got Ofmace pregnant. Sansa absolutely despises asparagus.  

 

 

“Ofrobert,” Commander Baratheon tiptoes as quietly as a man of his size can accomplish, “I brought you something.”  

 

 

He scans the room for Jon, Martha, or his wife one last time before smiling down like a lion looks at a stag. “Don’t tell the Mrs.” 

 

 

Robert sets a piece of chicken onto Sansa’s dismal plate. They both stare at it for a moment before Sansa sucks in a breath. “Thank you, sir.”  

 

 

“Anything for you Ofrobert, you need your strength. Eating pitiful greens isn’t going to do that for you.” Robert pats his oversized stomach and smiles almost…longingly at her. 

 

 

Sansa shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Why?” 

 

 

“We all want a baby, Ofrobert.”  

 

 

No,  _we_  don’t.  

 

 

Sansa decides to just take it for what it is, some extra food that might actually taste good so she doesn’t have to go to bed feeling hollow and sick. As she breaks off a tiny piece of it, she meets his gaze once more. “How?”  

 

 

Robert let’s out a low chuckle, “Why so many questions, girl? I’m the Commander and my Handmaid seemed unhappy.”  

 

 

As opposed to her being a shining star the past seven months she’s been trapped here? A look of confusion and disdain fight to cross her face, but she looks down at her plate to keep him from seeing. Robert stands and watches on as she chews her food delicately. She’s not quite sure what he expects of her but she’s hungry and almost grateful to him for the chicken he’s gifted her. He definitely had to sneak this from somewhere.  

 

 

“Let’s see a smile.” Robert is such a fucking jackass.  

 

 

Just as he makes his demand, a pair of quiet footsteps gain her attention. Jon hangs in the doorway holding up a ration paper with a picture of the white bird on the front, he then flips it over to show “CHICKEN” spelled out in bold, black marker.  

 

 

Sansa’s face breaks into a helpless grin that makes Robert beam in return. “Beautiful. We all want the same thing here, Ofrobert.”  

 

 

Jon’s lopsided grin makes her chest tight. He then briefly holds up a package before disappearing from the doorway. Robert ambles on about happiness, trust, and what it means to be a faithful woman of the Pointed Star. Everything is a euphemism for being grateful that she's able to fuck a great man like him, as if she should be proud or something. She chews up her chicken and thanks him as sweetly as she can before dashing to her room.  

 

 

Sansa begins her search, there’s only so many places he could’ve hidden it. No luck in or around her bed so she makes her way to her bathroom to take a look. Behind her run down clawfoot tub is the paper wrapped package. She unwraps it as quiet as her greedy hands will allow, and once she tears it all back she sees a book for the first time in a year.  

 

 

It’s some god awful romance novel from a penny shelf but it still makes her sob and clutch it tight. She’d never known she’d missed words so much.  

 

 

- 

 

 

“You fucking BITCH!” A male voice screeches from the other side of the supermarket. All the Handmaids continue reaching for their various groceries while managing to shoot each other curious side eyes, urging someone to be brave enough to see what is happening. It takes one of the younger girls gasping aloud for Sansa to finally get the nerve to peek at the commotion.  

 

 

Oframsay is straddling a guard and stabbing down with something silver and shiny. Jeyne, Sansa believes her name is, is rabid and wild as she swings and seethes above the gasping guard. A pair of steps from behind her begin pattering to get in on the action, and Sansa automatically sticks out her arm to clothesline her little sister from getting herself into anymore trouble.  

 

 

Arya sputters at the force and lands her ass on the linoleum flooring. “Ofrobert!”  

 

 

Sansa shushes her and watches on as the guard from the deli counter tries to restrain the tiny girl. Two more armed guards come barreling in from the streets shouting at the Handmaids in words Sansa can’t decipher.  

 

 

All she can see is the shiny knife glistening red.  

 

 

Arya grabs her sister’s leg and tries to get up, only for one of the guards to knock her right back onto her butt. “God  _dammit_!” Arya hisses and struggles to stand once more.  

 

 

Oframsay is with child, her stomach round and wide, it balances on the other guards chest as she swings at him with her weapon.  

 

 

One of the guards finally grabs onto her and the one who had knocked Arya back is now screaming orders for everyone to evacuate the store. No one moves a muscle.  

 

 

“I said, move!”  

 

 

It’s all Sansa hears before feeling a blow to the back of her head. At first it’s a bee sting, then all she sees is black.  

 

 

- 

 

 

The old gym lights sway and flicker above their heads. It’s silent among them as they look down at their glowing new wounds. All of the Handmaids keep their chins down and mouths shut, even Sansa’s outspoken little sister.  

 

 

Oframsay sits at a lone table in the center of the room and eats whatever is in her bowl stoically. She’d had to sit there and watch while Aunt Lysa held all of the Handmaid's forearms over the old cafeteria stoves and gave them “the gift of forgiveness and remembrance to be obedient and quiet women.”  

 

 

Aka fucking burned their arms as torture and punishment.   

 

 

Normally, Oframsay would be sent to the colonies in response of her rebellion, the only thing keeping her around is the baby growing inside her. It was a broad yet true threat. If you misbehave you are sent to the parts of the country ruined by pollution and war, where you will be worked to death. That’s only if hunger, thirst, or the radiation poisoning doesn’t kill you first.  

 

 

Oframsay chews and swallows and stares straight ahead while Aunt Lysa paces back and forth rattling off scriptures to the Handmaids lined up against the cinderblock wall. She adjusts her dark brown uniform and opens her mouth to start in again on a new lecture.  

 

 

Arya whispers under her breath, “This is absolute horseshit. I hope Jeyne likes that fucking soup.”  

 

 

After a stifled giggle Sansa shushes her, only to gain the furious attention of Aunt Lysa.  

 

 

“What was that?”  

 

 

She straightens up and ignores the agony of her burn, “I was just saying praised be, Aunt Lysa.”  

 

 

“For what?” Aunt Lysa slowly stalks up to her, “What are you grateful for?”  

 

 

“A fruitful womb and loving mercy.” Sansa picks out the keywords from Aunt Lysa’s psycho babble.  

 

 

She doesn’t look the least bit pleased with her answer. “No speaking while I’m speaking, it’s disrespectful.”  

 

 

“Of course Aunt Lysa, I’m sorry.” Sansa tries her best to not quiver. But she’s seen that look in Aunt Lysa’s eyes before. She’s hungry for violence and retribution.  

 

 

“Come here, Ofrobert.” Aunt Lysa waves and Sansa swallows.  

 

 

Arya steps forward. “I spoke out of turn Aunt Lysa, it wasn’t Ofrobert.”  

 

 

Aunt Lysa’s eyes catch fire. “Come here girls.”  

 

 

Before Sansa can even interject, Arya is already taking bold steps to stand beside Aunt Lysa. The other Handmaids watch in horror as Aunt Lysa commands that the two of them strip out of their red dresses and onto their knees.  

 

 

The two sisters do as their told and share a look of remorse between them as they’re then told, much too calmly, to get on their hands and knees. Sansa and Arya are both in too baggy underwear and bras that don’t fit, exposed to all the girls in the room. It’s nothing new. Everyone here has been punished in one way or another.  

 

 

“Thirty lashes.” Aunt Lysa bites out and Sansa clenches her jaw.  

 

 

Another Aunt comes from the kitchens and passes Aunt Lysa a brown leather whip, Sansa can hear her giving it a few test snaps before cracking it across their backs. Arya grunts with the first hit but Sansa can’t help but let out a scream. Aunt Lysa carries on with more relentless lashes while going on about what happens to misbehaved, disobedient, and ungrateful girls.  

 

 

Sansa can’t make out a word between her gasps and screams. 

 

 

“Aunt Lysa!” The gym doors are blown wide and no matter how dizzy Sansa is, she can still recognize the sound of Commander Baratheon’s voice.  

 

 

The whipping stops and only then does Sansa allow herself to catch her breath. Tears course her reddened face but she refuses to look anywhere but at the wooden floor. 

 

 

A pair of hands are gently guiding her up, avoiding the seared skin of her right forearm and the blood spotting her back. Sansa’s legs wobble as she rises from the floor and sees her sister Arya still strongly holding her posture, despite the injuries.  

 

 

Jon gently guides her arms into her red uniform, careful not to touch her damaged skin more than necessary. It takes her a moment to try to compose herself, her breath comes in short, choked gasps between her tears. Arya must be so annoyed at the sound of it.  

 

 

“Commander Baratheon.” Aunt Lysa dismisses him begrudgingly. 

 

 

Commander Baratheon nods his head for Jon and Sansa to follow suit and exit the Red Center. Sansa walks like a newborn calf, shaky, and unhinged. Sansa is far from foolish enough to assume that she's being rescued out of the kindness of Commander Baratheon's heart. She’s terrified of what the Baratheon’s are going to do to her when she gets home.  

 

 

Sansa glances back at Arya as Robert shoves the gym doors open and sees her small face in a fierce determination to keep her tears at bay. Her chest is heavy with pride and hurt when the doors swing shut behind them.  

 

 

“Well, help her out Jon.” Robert waves at the two of them noncommittally and takes a brisk step towards the blacked out Mercedes G Wagon.  

 

 

Jon hooks his arm around her shoulders, “Does this hurt.” 

 

 

Tears prick her eyes, “Just link your arm in mine. Please.”  

 

 

His arm drops to immediately hook his arm in hers and pull her closer to give her support, “Lean on me as much as you can.” 

 

 

The car is only a few feet away so the gesture is quite dramatic, but appreciated nonetheless. Robert clambers up in to the car and slams the door in response.  

 

 

“Why did you come to pick me up?” Sansa whispers. 

 

 

Jon swallows, “They found a positive pregnancy test.”  

 

 

Fuck.  

 

 

- 

 

 

Cersei’s spindle fingers are gentle and quick as they dress Sansa’s back. She sits with her red dress undone and her spotless white bonnet laying on the comforter of the Commander’s bed. It’s been thirty minutes since arriving home, and she was more than confused when she was greeted with a tight smile and a cup of tea from Martha.  

 

 

“I can’t believe they…” Cersei seethes and trails off. Sansa can’t see but she knows that Cersei is shooting her hovering husband a sour scowl over her shoulder.  

 

 

Commander Baratheon takes a few steps forward to the foot of their bed, “If it’s the Mother’s will, she will bring us our baby. The Mother will watch out for us. She is on our side.” 

 

 

The ibuprofen doesn't do much for Sansa's pain, but the gesture of being offered it was more than anything the two of them have ever done for her.  

 

 

 _“Anything more potent could hurt the child.”_  Cersei had clutched at Sansa’s abdomen desperately.  

 

 

Now that antibacterial cream was spread all over her lashes and smoldering burn, the dust has settled, and the fact that there is no baby growing inside her starts to eat away at her will to keep a straight face. What fucking idiots. She had gotten her period two weeks ago. 

 

 

Cersei walks Sansa to her own room with such care that she bites back the actual truth from spilling from her lips. Maybe she can milk the special treatment and just pretend like her next period is a miscarriage, then at least Sansa will get to skip the upcoming ceremony.  

 

 

After literally being tucked in her twin bed, Cersei looks at her worriedly from the doorway. “You will come and get me if anything arises.”  

 

 

“Of course Mrs. Baratheon.” Sansa squirms under her watchful gaze and feels an overwhelming wave of relief when the door is finally shut.  

 

 

“ _Fucking hell.”_  Sansa hisses as she rolls over to her side and off of her fresh wounds. Now that she’s alone, she’s left to wonder. Where did they find a pregnancy test? How did it end up positive?  

 

 

Cersei and Shae are infertile, hence why Shae is a Martha, and Sansa is currently here. And pregnancy tests aren’t available anymore, it’s a black market item that must’ve been smuggled in somehow. Every possibility races through her mind and comes to a crashing halt each time, but she sticks with it to avoid thinking of what is happening to Arya right now. Or where her baby Mina is.  

 

 

 _Whose baby is it?_   

 

- 

 

 

In the morning, Martha makes her fluffy scrambled eggs and juicy spiced sausage. Sansa eats it in grateful silence at the kitchen island with her chair tucked in close. Martha leaves the kitchen as soon as she starts eating to go help Cersei in the garden and Sansa assumes Commander Baratheon is holed up in his office doing whatever he can to make life more miserable. But for now, Sansa has alone time and eggs, so she finds herself smiling in spite of it all.  

 

 

“Sansa.” Jon slips into the kitchen like a shadow. He’s pale faced and wide eyed, “Are you…?”  

 

 

Sansa smirks, “No.”  

 

 

Jon visibly relaxes and unwinds before her, “Fucking hell. You had me so worried with the…the…” He rubs at his back to make his point about her whipping.  

 

 

“No that was just thanks to Aunt Lysa.” Sansa puts her fork down. “I don’t know who’s pregnancy test it was.”  

 

 

Jon blows out hot air, “As long as it’s not you.”  

 

 

“I thought we all wanted the same thing.” Sansa rises an eyebrow and does the best Commander Baratheon impression she can muster.  

 

 

A twitch of a smile passes Jon’s lips. “I guess we do.” 

 

 

He’s being much too serious for Sansa’s liking and she feels rather taken aback at not being given props for her spot on acting. “You want me withchild?” Sansa is sure to make her words over pronounced and loud.  

 

 

Jon chuckles darkly, “I want what you want.”  

 

 

“Ofrobert!” Cersei calls from the front of the house. Jon passes Sansa and squeezes her shoulder all in the blink of an eye. When Mrs. Baratheon is standing where he just was, she actually second guesses whether or not he was actually really there at all.  

 

 

- 

 

 

She’s not pregnant and she doesn’t want to be, so what brings her here? Inside Jon’s little world, his small home full of coffee mugs and a handmade quilt. Sansa realizes how little she knows him, and yet she’d call him a friend. Or something more.  

 

 

Jon rolls out of his bed as soon as she closes the door behind her. The yellow light from the Baratheon’s driveway is the only thing illuminating the place and Sansa’s wet red dress drips all over Jon’s wooden floor.  

 

 

It’s a torrential downpour outside, loud enough that it woke Sansa up and somehow told her to come here. She opens her mouth to say a joke or to dismiss herself, but Jon’s placing his worn hands on her face.  

 

 

“Jon.” Is all she can manage, and he knows.  

 

 

They collide against one another with kisses sweeter than anything she’s tasted. She’s more than eager to get out of her Handmaid’s uniform and Jon seems just as pleased to help her out. It’s been a week since the Red Center, her back is much better, if only a little tender when runs his hands up the beaten skin to remove her bra.  

 

 

Sansa tugs at his underwear while he pulls off his shirt, and then they’re completely themselves. Heaving and staring and voluntarily vulnerable for the first time since Sansa was taken from her family.  

 

 

“Come here.” Jon pulls her close and towards his bed. He plants gentle kisses down her neck and across her collar bone before whispering, “We don’t have to do this.”  

 

 

“We do.” Sansa pulls him closer with her heels pressed against the backs of his bare thighs, she wants him. She wants to make a choice and she chooses to be with him. To actually deserve the stupid fucking red uniform that dons her a sinner and a slut. What kind of a married mother sneaks into a random man’s room, a bad guy’s henchman’s room, just to put her underwear around her ankles?  

 

 

Ofrobert wouldn’t, but Sansa would.  

 

 

Jon’s handsome, thoughtful, and kind. He begins to rub at her clit while sucking gently on her naked neck, “So beautiful.”  

 

 

Sansa squirms to get closer, for more contact, and he obeys. Jon slides his fingers inside of her and she lets out a choked moan. They have to be more than quiet. Jon winds his fingers through her hair and gives a slight tug as he begins to pump faster.  

 

 

That’s the closest he gets to being rough, every other touch is tender and slow. Jon kisses all over her and when he slides his cock inside, he’s staring down at her so intently, Sansa reaches up and kisses him just to break the eye contact. It’s intense, sweet, and slow. She feels safe beneath him and even more so when they roll over so that she is on top.  

 

 

It’s only a few minutes before Jon starts rubbing her once again, urging her to finish with him. Sansa rides him harder now and finds it in herself to open her half closed eyes and watch Jon looking up at her with his plump lower lip between his teeth. That view sends her over the edge, toppling, tumbling, falling into Jon’s arms. He moves to pull out and she forces him to stay.  

 

 

Sansa sleeps there for thirty minutes, tucked closely to his bare chest, and Jon makes a sigh of protest and disappointment when she sits up. She slides on her red uniform, grabs her bonnet, and leaves without so much as looking back.  

 

 

She’s Ofrobert again, and Ofrobert has to wake up early for prenatal tea that will help the nonexistent fetus inside her empty womb.  

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo, what do we think?


End file.
